


God Save the Foolish Kings

by thekitgregoryblog



Category: Before We Go (2014), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Before We Go - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marvel Alternate Universe - Freeform, Minor Clint Barton, Natasha Is a Good Bro, POV Steve Rogers, Physical Diability, Steggy Angst, Steve & Natasha friendship, everyone in this goddamn fic needs a hug, kind of coffeeshop ??, oh well, tbh steve needs a hug too, they meet in grand central tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:24:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekitgregoryblog/pseuds/thekitgregoryblog
Summary: Based on Before We Go: Steve Rogers has a chance encounter with lost passenger Bucky Barnes, and the two share a day filled with experiences to last a lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! here's my lil fic based on before you go & i hope you guys like it! :)

Grand Central Station was buzzing with energy, and it woke Steve up better than his usual morning latte. It seemed like everyone in New York City had gathered there to form this kaleidoscope of life, moving with the everyday ebb and flow of traffic and Steve’s inner artist rejoiced at the sight.

Every Saturday morning, Steve took the subway from Brooklyn to Grand Central with his sketchbook in one hand and a coffee in the other. He walked out into the puddling masses, headphones in his ears to drown out any distracting noises, and made his way to a sit in his favorite spot: a little slice of wall near the escalators heading up to the second floor. It was the perfect spot for looking out into the bellows of the station and practicing his sketching on interesting passerby’s.

It had become sort of a ritual for Steve, ever since he had moved to New York about two years ago. He had just graduated from college with an associate’s degree in American History and wanted a fresh start. In his mind, moving to New York City seemed as good a plan as any and after he had lined up a job, his bags were packed and he was on his way. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been prepared for how overwhelming the city could be and it was a while before Steve could manage to go anywhere besides his workplace or his apartment. It was actually by coincidence that he even ended up in Grand Central Station that first time. He’d been planning to meet a colleague for breakfast at a cafe that was located within the station, and since he had a slight fear of being late, he arrived about half an hour earlier than scheduled. To pass the time, he’d brought his sketchbook and had stationed himself on a bench outside the cafe to watch the crowds wander by. He began to sketch some people that managed to catch his eye and before he knew it, two hours had passed by with only a message on Steve’s cell that the breakfast had been cancelled anyway. Something about being in the station at that time of day was therapeutic to Steve, and it was one of the things that he began to love about living in New York.

Steve pulled his knees in closer as he sat, not wanting to trip anyone walking past, and laid his sketchbook across them. He tugged a few of his pencils out of the messenger bag he brought with him and decided on the 2H to start with, his eyes scanning the room as he put the music on his iPod on shuffle. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major floated into his ears and everything around him seemed to be put on mute, the music taking it’s place. Steve listened to any type of music really, but for sketching he stuck to the classics. The swell of the cello was the perfect fit for people watching, at least on this particular morning. If he let his imagination wander just far enough, it looked almost as if passerby’s were dancing to the music and the thought made Steve smile.

The first person who caught his interest was a woman waiting in line at the ticket counter. She appeared all business, professional heels and a skirt that fell just above the knee, but she didn’t look sour like many other people who were waiting in line. Her phone was to her ear and she was smiling, her face bright and animated as she spoke into the receiver. Steve guessed she might be talking to a child, maybe her own. The thought made Steve’s lips quirk up at the corners, and he started to sketch the outline of her head. He studied that arch of her eyebrows and the length of her jaw, his pencil gliding across the page. When he was finished, it was a captured moment of joy. Her mouth was open in a grin as she talked into the phone, and her eyes were downcast but warm. It was a moment shared with someone special, and though he wasn’t a part of it, Steve was glad he’d managed to express some of it’s likeness.

His gaze shifted to an older gentleman who was rushing out of the terminal and into the bustling crowd, one hand holding onto his hat as he made his way to stand underneath the sign projecting the day’s train arrival and departure times. The man’s foot tapped an impatient beat as he analyzed the sign and Steve took that time to quickly sketch the man’s figure, a hurried mess of a thing that he would clean up later. Before Steve even finished getting the right angle to draw the hat, he looked up to see the man scurrying off to another terminal, the tail of his coat flapping behind him.

Steve took a sip of his coffee as his music switched to Clair de Lune by Debussy. He stretched the muscles in his drawing hand, the soft piano soothing his ache in a way that not a lot else could. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head back against the cool stone of the wall. The song brought back memories of the first time he had ever been in the city, alone and not sure what he was going to do with his life. He used to play this song as he tried to fall asleep on the dismal mattress that came with his apartment, trying to drown out the loudness of the new world around him, and the thought formed a melancholic ping in his chest.

He opened his eyes again and reached down to grab a different pencil, shaking his head free of memories. When he raised his head, a man stood across the floor in his line of vision and Steve felt his whole body pause. A flush rose to his cheeks as he continued to stare, his eyes locked onto the stranger. The man was absolutely breathtaking and Steve’s hand itched to draw him. Dark brown hair fell to the guy’s shoulders and every few moments he would blow a strand or two out of his face, his cheeks and chin covered in a hint of day old stubble. Steve clutched the pencil tighter in his hand as the man bit a very pink bottom lip, his greyish blue eyes focused on something out of Steve’s sight at the moment. Steve started to press the tip of his pencil to paper but stopped when he noticed the man’s expression.

He looked worried. Really worried. Steve noticed that the man’s gaze was trained on the departure and arrival times, and wondered if he was having trouble finding his train. A few people passing by the man bumped into him as he stood there, not even bothering to say sorry as they knocked his bag onto the ground, the contents spilling across the marble floor. A flare of anger bubbled in Steve’s stomach. Putting away his pencils and his sketchbook, he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and made his way through the crowd over to the man, who was now trying in vain to catch every item rolling off into the distance.

Steve bent down next to him and grabbed a tube of cherry Chapstick that was almost crushed under the heel of some businessman walking past. He managed to round up a couple quarters and a folded up sheet of paper before turning to the man, handing out the items to him. “Here, I think you lost these.”

The man paused from shoving an umbrella back into his bag and looked up at him. He stared at Steve’s face for a beat before moving his gaze to what Steve held out to him. “Oh...thanks.” He reached out with his right hand, letting Steve place the items in his open palm, and Steve noticed that his left arm hung awkwardly at his side.

“No problem.” Steve offered a smile and stood, waiting until the man began to stand as well. “Can’t believe those jerks didn’t even apologize for running into you like that.”

The man just shrugged a little, running a hand through his hair. “S’okay. I was the one standing in the way.”

“Doesn’t mean it was right.” Steve stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Everything okay with you? Besides the obvious.”

The man’s line of sight shifted up behind Steve’s head to look at the train times and he bit his lip again, causing that little flutter in Steve’s stomach to recur. “Um...not really.”

“Anything I could help with?” Steve rocked back onto the heels of his feet and tapped his fingers against the tops of his thighs, a nervous habit that he never quite seemed to grow out of. He hoped he didn’t sound too forward and wouldn’t scare the guy off before he even had the chance to help.

“I...I think I missed my train.” There was a note of anxiety in the man’s tone and it made Steve’s brow furrow.

He flipped around to study the board of train times as well, his fingers tapping wildly, and asked the man, “Where are you headed?”

“Boston. I- my train was supposed to leave here at 8:30 but I don’t see it on the list.” The man swallowed, adjusting the strap of his bag, and pointed with his right arm to where the times for Boston departure were shown. “It only shows times for after 4 pm and.. that’s too late.”

Steve heard the rising panic in the man’s voice and turned back to him, placing a hand gently on his left shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. It could just be a mistake.” Even to his own ears, Steve knew that sounded like a long shot. Grand Central was almost always spot on about the arrival and departure times of their trains and made sure to update on the latest delays, so it was unlikely that they would completely forget about a train heading to Boston.

The man just nodded, looking even more upset by the second, though he didn’t show it beyond the look in his eyes and his tightly clenched fists. His eyes kept studying the times over and over again until his shoulders began to tense as well, and Steve racked his brain for something that could help. They could go over to the information booth and see if there had been a mix up, but Steve had a feeling that wasn’t the case. Maybe he’d come on the wrong day? No, Steve looked over at him and sensed that he wouldn’t be getting this worried without checking the date on his ticket first, then felt bad for even thinking it could be the guy’s fault. In all honestly, the train was probably cancelled hours earlier and some punk forgot to message one of the passengers about it. Steve had seen it happen before, having watched people argue at the ticket booths with one of the tellers until the issue was resolved.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we check with one of the ticket booths, and try to find out what happened, okay?” Steve tried to make his voice as cheerful as possible and nodded his chin towards the people standing in line at some of the booths, the wait seeming not too long thankfully. The man paused for a moment before giving a little nod of consent, and trailed behind Steve as he led them into place behind a couple that, even though they were both looking at their phones, were holding hands.

It took Steve a few moments of awkward silence to ask, “So, uh...we never formally met, did we?” He stuck out a hand of his that wasn’t still pattering away in his jean pocket. “My name’s Steve.”

The man looked over at Steve for the first time since Steve handed him back his chapstick, and shook Steve’s hand with his right one. “Bucky.” Bucky’s tone wasn’t unkind, but it was short and to the point. Steve bit his lip. God, he hoped that he wasn’t acting too creepy.

They stood side by side in line for a few more minutes, taking a couple steps forward each time someone left the booth. Neither of them said a word and that only added to Steve’s worry about making a goddamn fool of himself. He was only trying to help the guy, not ask him on a date or anything. Steve shook his head slightly. Bucky probably wasn’t thinking about Steve’s motives for helping him anyway, especially when he was freaking out about missing an apparently important train.  _ Way to be self-centered, Rogers. _

A few times out of the corner of his eye, Steve noticed Bucky rubbing at his left arm near his shoulder, wincing a few times as he did. Steve opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, but thought better of it as it seemed like Bucky wasn’t really in the mood for conversation.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The teller smiled politely as Bucky and Steve finally approached, folding her hands nicely on the counter.

“Hi. We- um, we had a question about departure times for Boston?” Steve swallowed as he fought back a stutter that he prayed wouldn’t make an appearance. Shit, he forgot how bad he was at talking to people professionally. Or talking to people in general. It hadn’t been that hard with Bucky just a few minutes before, why did he have to suck at it now? “Is it possible that there was a cancellation?”

The teller turned to her computer that sat beside her on the counter and tapped away at the keyboard for a few moments. “Hmm..it looks like… Yes! There was a cancellation for an 8:30 departure this morning. A notice should have been sent out to all the passengers who bought any tickets in advance.”

“Are there any other trains heading out before noon?” Bucky spoke up from where he stood and Steve heard another wave of nerves hit his vocal chords.

The teller clucked her tongue as she searched, looking over at Bucky apologetically when her search proved futile. “I’m sorry. The next train available is at 4:25 this afternoon, but I’m afraid that’s the earliest one we have.”

Bucky’s jaw seemed to lock into place as he trained his gaze on the floor, and Steve thanked the teller for her help as he led Bucky away. He didn’t think that Bucky would make a scene, but then again, he also didn’t know the guy well enough to fully judge that either. Steve also couldn’t help but notice that as he and Bucky stopped outside the bathrooms, Bucky was scratching at his arm, in the same place as before.

Steve ran a hand through his hair and checked the time on a clock hanging nearby. Almost 9:30. “Maybe we could get you a cab? I mean, it’ll take a bit longer but it should get you there.”

“No, it.. I’ll be too late.” Bucky sighed sharply, his gaze wandering haphazardly around the station. “Look, thanks for your help but I don’t think there’s a way you can fix this.”

“Are you sure? I’ve got all day-”

“Well I don’t!” Bucky snapped, causing Steve to flinch. When he saw Steve take a couple steps back, Bucky ran his palm roughly over his face and leaned back against the wall, sliding down to the floor with a defeated expression. “Sorry...I’m just really fucked, okay?”

Steve was quiet for a few moments, standing above Bucky and not sure what to do next. A part of him said that he should leave Bucky alone and that he’d done enough with butting his big fat head in where it didn’t belong. He was almost considering it, feeling so goddamn bad about the whole thing, when Steve found himself sliding down the wall to sit next to Bucky. They sat in silence for a while, staring out at the people walking around to their terminals, before Steve said quietly, “Can I ask what’s in Boston?”

Steve heard Bucky swallow before the answer came. “I had an appointment for this...medical thing.” There was another pause. “An experimental trial.”

_ Fuck, he’s sick. _ Something in Steve’s chest tightened. “This isn’t..life or death, is it?”

Bucky snorted. “If you’re asking if I’m gonna die if I don’t get to Boston, the answer is no.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay.”

They broke conversation again and Steve tapped his fingers against the cool marble of the floor. The tightness in his chest hadn’t loosened, making him want to pull out his sketchbook and draw the ache away, but instead he forced himself to focus on breathing in and out.  _ In and out. _

Bucky was the first to speak the second time around. “There are only a few slots. To participate in the trial, I mean.” He scratched his left arm again and sighed. “I was supposed to be there by 1 to check in but.. it was probably a lost cause anyway.”

“You don’t know that.”  _ In and out. In and out. _

“And you do?” Bucky cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shrugged, the tightness in his chest loosening a bit as he said, “There’s always something better around the corner. You just gotta be willing to take the walk to see it.”

“Huh.” Bucky blew a strand of hair out of his face and closed his eyes, looking like he might take a nap. “Maybe I’ve had my fair share of walking.”

Steve had no reply for that, and leaned his head back against the wall. His mind ran over what Bucky had said, the tiredness of his voice and the beaten look to his posture. Whatever Bucky had been through had obviously been one hell of a battle, and Steve couldn’t blame him for not wanting to fight his demons anymore. He knew enough of that to understand.

Steve didn’t know how long they’d been sitting there until his phone buzzed in his back pocket, waking him out of whatever trance he was in. Unlocking the screen, he opened it to see a text that read:  _ You still at the station? Or did you forget about our hot date? _

He smiled briefly before an idea smacked him upside the head, causing him to sit up straight.

Bucky startled at Steve’s sudden movement. “You okay, man?”

Steve turned to him, hoping that his excitement wasn’t taking over his face. “Would you wanna go somewhere with me?”

“..That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t think this is a good time.”

“No, no, I found someone who I think could help you.” Steve stood, his body already buzzing from just the idea of it, and then held out a hand to help Bucky stand as well.

Bucky sighed and Steve saw annoyance color his brow again.  “Dude, I told you, it’s too late-”

“Just trust me, okay?”

Bucky stared up at Steve, his expression saying that the last thing he wanted to do was get up and follow anyone anywhere. Steve wondered if he might actually give him the finger and walk away. There was a beat of them staring at each other before, to Steve’s surprise and relief, Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand, his grip tighter than expected.

  
“Alright. Let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's part two for you guys!

The Other Guy was a restaurant Steve had discovered one night when he was feeling particularly desolate and had a hankering to get very very drunk. At the time, Steve hadn’t really been able to appreciate how cool it was, later finding out that it was actually a renovated old greenhouse. That alone was enough to keep him coming back, though there were also other perks.

“Here comes my favorite fossil.”

Steve smiled at the nickname as he and Bucky made their way over to the bar. “Hey, Nat.”

Natasha Romanoff was one of the first friends that Steve had made when he came to New York. If not only for the fact that she was the one who helped him get drunk in the first place, and was also the one to get him into a cab and safely home that same night. She had also gotten a hold of Steve’s phone somehow, so that in the morning he was able to match the fuzzy image of a redhead to an actual person that texted him to see if he hadn’t died from the fifteen shots he had taken. Ever since then, Nat had been a daily presence in his life and was largely responsible for getting Steve to go places other than his apartment after work. There was a lot that he wanted to thank her for, and he tried to show it in every way that he could. Even though he had a feeling that she knew already.

Nat leaned against the bar, propping her elbows on top of the counter as they made their way over. “Anything interesting happening at the museum?”

“I’m afraid your fantasy of Night at the Museum is going to have to wait another day.” Steve worked as an assistant for the curator at the Museum of Natural History, and ever since Nat had figured out about it two years ago, she’d dubbed him “the fossil” and relentlessly teased him with questions about dinosaur skeletons coming to life. “Also, you know I don’t work the night shift.”

“Eh, a girl can dream.” Nat smiled but her expression shifted into one that Steve had grown to recognize as she caught sight of Bucky standing just slightly behind him. See, Nat had earned herself a nickname over the years of working at The Other Guy. It was no secret that Nat was dangerously good looking, with her red hair and curves for days, and she had a reputation for using it to her advantage. An urban legend of the bar said if Natasha decided to snare you in her web, the situation was guaranteed to end with her breaking your heart as she kicked you out of her apartment the next morning without a second look. Not to mention that if you dared to lay a hand on her without her permission, you might not live to see the sunrise. The bar flies called her ‘the Black Widow’, in reference to the spider that’s been known to eat their male partners alive after mating. Not that Nat minded in the slightest. “Care to introduce us, Steven? It’s terribly rude to let him stand there like that.”

“This is Bucky. And unfortunately, he’s not on the menu.”

Nat pursed her lips in a pout. “Aw. He looks so delicious too.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky looked like he wanted to turn around and bolt out of there as fast as he could. He whispered to Steve on the side, “I thought you said you found someone who could _help_.”

“Don’t worry, she’s harmless. Usually.” Steve gave Bucky what he hoped looked like a disarming smile. Bucky returned it with a glare.

Turning back to Nat, Steve stuffed his hands back in his pockets and this time was able to keep his fingers from playing the imaginary piano. “Our breakfast plans aside, we’re actually here to ask a favor.”

“Oh?” Nat’s eyes moved back and forth between Bucky and Steve, a wicked glint shining in them. “If you guys are in need of fuzzy handcuffs-”

Steve’s face flushed bright red. “God- No, Nat! Not that kind of favor.” He really wished that she could hear all the profanities he was yelling at her inside his head at that moment, since there was no way in hell he was going to be able to even look at Bucky for the next fifteen minutes. If he didn’t think Steve was a freak before, he sure fucking did now. “We need to borrow your car.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“Would I be asking you if I wasn’t?” Steve sighed, still trying to fight the blush that he felt crawling up his neck from her previous comment.

“Point taken.” Nat’s face softened at his redness and she tucked some hair behind her ear. “Look, you know I would lend it to you in a heartbeat, but it’s actually out of commision at the moment.”

Steve’s entire being deflated. “What? What happened?”

“I was dumb enough to let Clint use it for the weekend and, lo and behold, he ran it into a fucking tree when he was out with his hunting buddies.” Nat rolled her eyes, looking more exasperated than he’d seen her in weeks. Clint was a good friend of Nat’s from college and from the few times that Steve had met him, he’d seemed like an okay guy, if not a little on the wild side. Of the three of them, it made sense that Clint would be the one to smash up Nat’s car. Steve just wished that he would’ve had better timing.

Bucky was the only one to seem concerned about Clint’s safety at the moment. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. My car got knocked around worse than him. Figures.” Nat fiddled with the apron she wore around her waist and looked up at Steve cautiously. “I know you don’t really wanna hear this, but have you thought about asking…” She leaned in closer to Steve, lowering her voice, “…you know, Peggy’s parents?”

Steve froze. “No. I couldn’t.”

“Steve, they told you that if you needed anything-”

“ _Nat._ ”

She backed off, noticing the strain in Steve’s voice and Steve was thankful she did. They hadn’t spoken about Peggy or her parents since his early days in New York, and just hearing her name ripped open a fresh wound in Steve’s stomach.

Nat, trying to lighten the tension in the air, turned towards Bucky and winked. “Well, since you guys are stuck for now, you might as well stay for breakfast.”

Bucky swallowed and looked warily at Steve. “Uh…?”

“Great! It’s on me.” Nat hopped over the counter without even waiting for Steve to reply and linked her left arm through Bucky’s right, leading him over to a table while Bucky gave Steve a nervous looks over his shoulder. Steve trailed a few steps behind, trying in vain to sew up the remnants of his stomach as he wondered how much Bucky had heard. He really was trying everything he could think of to help Bucky get to Boston, it’s just… he couldn’t contact Peggy’s parents after all this time. Not after what had happened.

Steve sat down across from Bucky at the table Nat led them to, situated in the back of the restaurant in a part that had been left out of the renovation. It resembled a type of patio and was encased by glass panelling, letting the hazy morning light that was so associated with the city float inside and paint the room in gold. The light seemed to make everything especially lovely that morning, Steve noticed, and he couldn’t help sneaking a look at how it seemed to surround Bucky in an almost angelic glow. He fought off another wave of redness coming to his cheeks, turning to smile up at Nat as she brought them both mugs of coffee and some creamer cups. Steve preferred his black, taking a sip as he watched Bucky empty three creamers into his mug and then dump a packet of sugar into it as well. The action seemed familiar and when Steve realized why and whom had also had that habit, the rip in his stomach seemed to pull wider.

Nat had taken upon herself to have the cook make them something special, a surprise of sorts, and left Bucky and him sitting there alone. For some reason, Steve had the feeling that Nat had a hidden motive for offering them to stay, but it was quickly forgotten when Bucky spoke up from across the table. “You know…you didn’t have to do all this.”

“What do you mean?” Steve took a sip of his coffee and focused his gaze on anything other than Bucky’s face. Or hands. Or him at all.

“Trying to help me get to Boston, and probably wasting a perfectly good morning.” Bucky ran his right hand through his hair, then rested it on the back of his neck. “I’m sure you had better things to do.”

Steve let out a little chuckle. “Not really. My life is pretty dull as is.”

Bucky looked over Steve for a moment and then shook his head, saying, “Nah, you don’t seem like a dull guy.”

They both were quiet for a few minutes after that, sipping at their coffee and Steve’s mind whirred with what Bucky could’ve meant by that. Did he mean that he thought Steve was a fun guy, or was he just saying that he thought Steve was a weird freak that liked to do strange things? He really hoped it wasn’t the latter because if Bucky went away from this thinking that he actually was into fuzzy handcuffs, he might have to kill Nat. Unless, Bucky was into that sort of thing. _Get your fucking head out of the gutter, Rogers!_

“So, you and…Nat, is it? You guys seem pretty close.” Bucky pulled a napkin from the dispenser stationed next to them and started tearing at the corner of it absentmindedly.

Steve smiled a bit. “Yeah, we are.”

“Must be, if she was willing to lend her car to you without any explanation of why.”

“We trust each other. She has my back, and I have hers.” Steve watched as Bucky kept tugging at the napkin, his fingers jaggedly ripping a line towards the middle. “It’s how things work with us.”

 _Riiiiiip._ “She your girlfriend?”

Steve almost choked on his sip of coffee, setting down the mug as he coughed out, “W-What? No, Nat and I are just friends.”

Bucky’s fingers stalled and he looked up at Steve, his expression something Steve couldn’t place. “Oh..okay.”

“I mean, i-it’s not like I don’t find Nat attractive, we just, um, we work better as friends.” Steve felt the urge to cringe at his rambling, probably because he wasn’t helping his case at all by stuttering and bumbling like an idiot, and bit his lip when Bucky’s gaze moved back to the napkin. Neither of them said anything else for a while, and Steve was starting to worry that soon these pauses between them were going to grow larger and larger until they weren’t going to talk at all. Granted, he barely knew the guy so there wasn’t much to talk about, but Steve didn’t like sitting across from Bucky without at least trying to create some form of conversation.

He cleared his throat. “Is it okay to ask what the trial was for? If not, I completely understand.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed at Steve’s question and he raised his mug to take a long sip of coffee before answering. “Yeah, it’s cool. I, uh…I’m getting tested to see if I’d be able to use this new tech of sorts…It’s a thing that hasn’t really been tried before but all the magazines I’ve read said it works so..”

Steve leaned forward in his chair. “What kind of thing?”

“Um..” Bucky ran a hand through his hair and then rested it on the back of his neck, keeping his eyes trained on a spot across the room. “It’s for my arm. A prosthetic, actually.” He moved his hand to scratch at his left arm again, and suddenly it made sense to Steve why it was hanging so awkwardly. “I was in a… a pretty bad accident when I was younger.”

A lump formed in Steve’s throat, large and painful, and he tried to grasp at something to say in response. All that came out of his mouth, pitifully, was, “I’m sorry, Bucky..”

It was a few more seconds before Bucky nodded, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at the back of his neck again. The light coming from above them shone down on him in a new way and this time, it looked like he could’ve been carved straight from the mind of Michelangelo. All sharp angles and anguished detail. The perfect painting of a haunted man.

Steve chilled to the bone at the sight.

It was then that Nat chose to appear once more, raising an eyebrow at the two of them and holding a tray that presented a delicious array of french toast. “Everything alright over here?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Surprisingly, Bucky was the first to speak. Even though he covered himself under the disguise of a friendly smile as he looked up at Nat, Steve could tell he was hurriedly clearing the air surrounding their conversation and took note of it.

Nat gave Steve a look that questioned Bucky’s statement, but Steve just nodded in reply. Shrugging, she placed the plates down in front of them and as she walked away, Steve felt her hand gently squeeze his arm. A silent surge of courage that he didn’t even realize he needed until that point.

Through the rest of breakfast, he and Bucky shared idle conversation, mostly about the city and what they both were doing there. Steve talked about how he worked at the museum and how his boss was a pretty cool guy, while Bucky lamented about his office job and what a pretentious asshole his boss could be. They then moved on to discuss things more about their hobbies, Steve finding out that Bucky was into baseball which added a whole new slew of comments about how the Dodgers were the greatest team in history, and Bucky prodding Steve about letting him look at his sketchbook. The conversation circled around and around before they landed on tales about hilarious situations their friends had gotten them into, both of them having plenty to share in that department. At one point, Bucky even had Steve in stitches over a particular outrageous story involving a very large hammer and some alcohol, when Nat actually had to come over to tell them to quiet down before her manager made them leave the restaurant. Which only sent the both of them into more gales of laughter.

Bucky held his side as he let his giggles settle, tears in his eyes from the force of his laughter. “Shit, man…I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Steve managed to straighten up in his chair and smiled over at Bucky as he waited for his breathing to slow, coming down from his high. “Maybe we were friends in another life or something.”

“Aw, don’t get all philosophical on me now. You just told me ‘bout a time when you basically wore an empty bag of cheetos as a hat! How am I supposed to take you seriously ever again?” Bucky grinned as he reached a hand over to give Steve a noogie, Steve laughing and batting away his hand while Bucky tried in vain to mess up his hair.

“I was drunk! And it was Nat’s idea, not mine!” Steve finally managed to wrestle Bucky’s hand from his head, holding it in his for a moment before playfully tossing it back towards Bucky’s chuckling figure. There was a warm fuzzy feeling spreading throughout Steve’s body and it almost made him feel as if he was floating a few inches above the ground. It was amazing, he thought, that Bucky and him were already so close when they had met just that morning. If Bucky had been just a few minutes later or earlier, who knows if they would’ve ended up where they were now. A small twinge of hope inside Steve that said they might’ve. “Speaking of Nat, we should probably get out of here before we get her fired.”

Bucky sighed and stood from his chair, giving Steve a gorgeous little smirk. “I guess so. To be honest, I think she was tempted to slip something into our coffees just to make us shut up.”

“Nah. Nat would kick your ass, both mentally and physically, before she resorted to that.”

Bucky laughed, grinning. “On the topic of my ass, it’s pretty fucking sore from sitting in that goddamn chair. Like who invented that? Satan?”

 _Fucking hell._ Steve quickly focused his gaze on his shoes, giving a little chuckle and mumbling something in reply while he tried to shove all thoughts of Bucky’s ass from his brain. He was making real progress in the friend department and couldn’t afford to screw it all up by getting a tent in his pants.  

They both made their way through the front doors and out onto the sidewalk, melting into the crowd but still somehow in their own little bubble. Steve mentally sketched a picture of that moment; a black and white mob of bystanders milling to and fro, and them in the center, highlighted in color so vibrant it could rival the sun. Bucky was talking excitedly about something related to the Dodgers but all Steve could focus on was his eyes. They were a storm upon themselves, alight with lightning against the backdrop of a smoking navy sky, and it was all Steve could do to not trip over his own goddamn feet.

Eventually, either by some stroke of luck or lack of attention to their surroundings, they ended up standing on the steps of the MOMA, cheeks wind-burnt and lips chapped from the cold November air. Bucky looked over at Steve and raised an eyebrow, nodding towards the museum. “You wanna take a look?”

Steve smiled. “Sure.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character Death (also a disclaimer that i am not a doctor or medical student, so i apologize if there is any offensive representation of illness & if so, please let me know so i can fix it)

Steve didn’t tell Bucky that ever since he’d lived in New York, going to the MOMA had been one of his favorite things to do when he wasn’t at work or hanging with Nat. Sometimes he even managed to drag Nat along for the afternoon. All he did was nod, a faint smile on his lips, and follow Bucky up to the front doors. It was unusually quiet for a Saturday, Steve mused as he and Bucky made their way to check in their coats. A few people were milling around the entrance, leafing through pamphlets and talking in hushed voices, and beyond that a couple groups of others were making their way into the bellows of the museum. Steve handed his coat to the well-dressed man holding his hand out to him but kept his messenger bag slung across his body. He also noticed that Bucky kept his left glove, same as he had done at breakfast.

They wandered through the cavernous halls, walking in sync together even though they kept an appropriate foot or so between them. Steve wanted to step closer to Bucky, to shorten the distance and take his uncovered hand in his. He felt himself blush once again as he thought of what the skin of Bucky’s wrist would feel like under his fingertips. Once or twice, Bucky would stop in front of a painting and study it, his tongue darting out and licking his lower lip as he furrowed his brow. What Bucky didn’t know is that while he was staring at the paintings, Steve was staring at him. As much as Steve loved the art, he really did, there was no way his body could resist stealing glances at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He should’ve felt guilty for wasting $25 just to stare at his companion for the day, but Bucky was a masterpiece all his own. And Steve couldn’t do anything but be absolutely hopeless at the sight of him.

The sharp ding of a cell phone pierced the silence that blanketed the gallery and Bucky reached into his back pocket, letting out a curse as the other two people wandering through shot him a dirty look. Steve flashed an apologetic smile at them, which they conveniently didn’t seem to notice.

“Fuck…I’ve gotta take this.” Bucky bit his lip, his brows knitted together anxiously and he jerked his chin towards the corner of the room. “I’ll just be over here…ok?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Take your time.”

As Bucky tensely shuffled away, Steve let out a sigh and set down on one of the wooden benches. His fingers tapped out a steady rhythm against the cool surface, but no matter how hard he tried to focus on the art in front of him, his gaze kept straying over to where Bucky stood. The itch to draw him came swelling back into Steve’s hands, making his heart race at the idea, and he reached into his bag to pull out his sketchbook. Flipping through towards the end of book, he stopped at a blank page and lifted his eyes to Bucky’s frame. His pencil scraped out the outline of his body; the broadness of his shoulders, the curvature of his spine leading down to his… Steve blushed as he completed the next part with hurried strokes. He drew Bucky’s jaw line as sharp as a razor, the days old stubble smoking over his chin and neck, and kept his long hair tucked over the ear that faced Steve, letting him grasp the likeness of Bucky’s face.

He was in the middle of trying to get the right plumpness of Bucky’s bottom lip when someone next to him asked, “Is that me?”

Steve whipped his head up from sketching and his stomach flipped when he saw Bucky staring back at him. Or, more accurately, staring down at Steve’s sketchbook. He resisted the impulse to snap it closed, wanting to pretend that there was nothing there, and instead nodded, his voice paralyzed by the fear that Bucky would see the sketch as something it wasn’t. Even though every single stroke of his pencil screamed otherwise.

Bucky’s face was unreadable as he scanned Steve’s sketch of him with careful eyes. With each second that went by, Steve held his breath and was debating on whether he should just get up and leave or spontaneously combust right there. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, feeling like he might pass out before either of those options were available, when Bucky said softly, “Shit, Steve…it’s amazing.”

Steve’s insides melted into jello. It took him a few moments to even form a coherent thought before he managed to say, “Thanks.. I, uh, I hope it was okay for me to draw you?” He swallowed, the words now tumbling out. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask first, you were on the phone and I wasn’t thinking-”

“No, no, it’s okay. Really.” Bucky still hadn’t lifted his eyes from Steve’s lap, his right hand gripping onto the bench beneath them. There was another second of silence and Bucky spoke up again, his voice slightly higher than before. “Could I.. Could I look at your other sketches?”

Steve tensed. His sketchbook was something of a diary to him, a place where he could put down his thoughts and feelings in pictures instead of words. Only a few people ever saw its contents and Steve knew that if he showed the book to Bucky, there would be no turning back from what Bucky would see. Bucky was looking at him like he might take back his request, having noticed the tightening of Steve’s shoulders, but Steve placed the sketchbook gently in Bucky’s lap before he had the chance to open his mouth. “Yeah..go ahead.”

A long moment stretched between the two of them, lasting until Bucky started to slowly flip through the pages. Steve noticed that Bucky’s hand shook as he turned one page over the next, and in that slice of time Steve thought that Bucky understood how important his sketches were to him. Looking over across Bucky’s lap, Steve watched as he passed through the smiling  lady in line at the ticket booth, and the man looking up at the train times who had run away with his jacket flapping like a cape. The more Bucky flipped backwards through the pages, the more Steve felt transported back in time. It was almost like he’d built a time machine, and all he had to do was look at a sketch to be flung straight into that moment.

Steve was so engrossed in the memories he’d created that he almost didn’t realize that Bucky had stopped flipping through the pages, his body still as he stared down at the portrait laid out before him. A sudden icy fear gripped Steve like a vice and his vision came into focus around the sketch of a woman. Not just any woman, but _the_ woman.

The picture was full of soft lines and exquisite detail, all the way from how her hair framed her face right down to the dimple dotting the left corner of her mouth. She was captured mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled and her mouth wide open in a smile. She was incredibly beautiful, even in only black and white. Anyone looking at this picture would be able to tell that whoever had drawn it put love into every aspect of it’s creation, and that the woman had definitely loved the artist as well.

Steve felt like someone had punched him in the stomach.

“Who’s this?” Bucky asked, his voice so soft that Steve almost hadn’t heard him.

Steve closed his eyes, squeezing them shut until he was able to collect the pieces of himself that were now scattered across the museum floor. He answered quietly. “That’s…That’s Peggy.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of Steve’s voice. “The same Peggy that Nat spoke about?”

Swallowing painfully, Steve nodded and let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know how well he was going to hold up if Bucky was going to ask the questions Steve thought he might, but he couldn’t act like Peggy hadn’t existed either. He forced himself to sit up straight and kept his hands clasped together in his lap so tightly that they seemed fused together. _You can do this. You can do this._

Bucky’s face softened as he looked at Steve and then back down at Peggy. “Was she your…?”

“Girlfriend, yeah.” Steve could already feel his heart rate start to pick up in anxiety. “She and I… we dated throughout college. Ohio State University.” Maybe if he added in miscellaneous details, he could distract himself from getting upset. Maybe he could even fool himself into thinking that could work, too.

“Was it a bad breakup?” Bucky closed Steve’s sketchbook gently and set it between them on the bench. “I mean, it’s none of my business but… you look really upset.”

“You could say that.” Steve let out a small humorless laugh, squeezing his hands even tighter around themselves.

“I’m guessing she broke up with you…?”

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, no…There wasn’t really an official breakup.”

“Ok…” Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I’m not following.”

Steve had to pause to keep his voice from cracking and took a deep breath. “Peggy… She died. Three years ago, before I came to the city.”

After Steve’s confession, there was a silence so thick it felt like a wall between him and Bucky. An impenetrable wall that Steve’s words had built to keep Bucky from getting to close, and a silent warning that there was a road cracked and broken ahead. They sat there without saying a word for what felt like hours when Bucky finally said, his voice so gentle it almost felt like a caress, “Steve…I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be. Please.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, breaking the bond with his other and stretched his fingers to ease the tension in them. “There wasn’t anything anyone could do to help anyway so…it’s better off that people aren’t sorry.”

“Steve, you can’t make people not feel awful about what happened. Even if it wasn’t their fault.”

Bucky was right, Steve knew, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Countless of times after people had found out that Peggy had passed, he was confronted with the many apologies and heartfelt letters to say they were sorry for his loss. He performed all the formalities and played the part of a polite grieving boyfriend, but the whole time all Steve had wanted to do was scream. He wanted to scream that nobody could possibly feel as awful as he did, that no one could ever be as sorry for his loss than he himself because she wasn’t just a person that could be consoled away with a few words on a fucking Hallmark card. She was a brand on his heart, and the only way that Steve would ever stop feeling sorry was to rip his heart out of his goddamn chest.

“You don’t have to answer this,” Bucky spoke up again, his words carefully chosen as if he thought that Steve might flinch away at any given moment, “But..what exactly happened to Peggy?”

It had been so long since Steve told the story about what happened to Peggy that sometimes he didn’t know where to start. Should he start at the beginning, when he met Peggy during his freshman year at college? He still hadn’t quite filled out his winter coat from high school, even with his ma’s attempts at fattening him up, and entered the school year having no clue how to make friends or to not make a fool of himself. He’d enrolled in an advanced literary course that studied the works of Alexander Hamilton, a former treasury secretary that history had left behind, and that’s where Peggy had swept him off his feet. Even on the first day in class he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, blushing slightly every time she managed to glance his way. She was beautiful and intelligent as hell, speaking with a voice so regal that it could silence any fool who tried to intimidate her. The second he saw her break into a smile, he’d been hooked. It took him weeks to even build up the courage to talk to her, and when their professor assigned them to be partners for a report, Steve could barely say a word without his stutter making a hideous appearance. Peggy, to his surprise, was patient with him and soon enough, Steve had forgotten to be nervous around her at all. She was still regal and bold and way out of his league, but she was also exceedingly kind and actually seemed interested in what Steve had to say.

 _“And it’s just so amazing how fucking_ dedicated _he was to creating this country, you know? Like, he wrote basically entire novels and even went to front lines to give people a better nation to live in and I… God, I wish I was more like him.” Steve sighed, his rant over, and relaxed back into his chair._

_Peggy was smiling over at him from where she sat on her bed, and in the heat of his passionate speech, Steve had almost forgotten she’d been sitting there. Which was ridiculous because it was her dorm after all, and she was the one who’d invited him over to study. He suddenly was afraid that she might laugh at him for everything he’s said, but when she opened her mouth all she said was, “You’re more like him than you think, Steve.”_

_A bright red flush began crawling up his neck, even reaching the tips of his ears. “Nah,” he said, brushing off Peggy’s compliment. “All I can do is draw. That, and pick fights.”_

_“Isn’t that what he did though?” Peggy sat up straighter, a habit Steve noticed that she did whenever she was going to say something important, and crossed her legs so elegantly she could’ve been the Queen of England herself. “Alexander Hamilton picked fights with people over things that mattered, things that he thought were important and ought to be resolved. He wasn’t afraid of starting a bit of trouble to get work done, and that’s what made him so influential. He was a rebel and an underdog. Now,” She looked at him pointedly and flashed that devastating smile of hers, “who does that remind me of?”_

_Steve had the fleeting thought that he would definitely pick a fight for her if he had to. “Who?”_

_A laugh like the chiming of a bell sung out into the room, and Peggy reached across the small space between her bed and the desk chair Steve sat in to poke his cheek with her finger._

_“You.”_

After the course had finished, he and Peggy kept in touch over the summer, mostly through texts, which consisted of Steve whining about how boring Ohio was and Peggy having the audacity to tell him ‘chin up, darling’ as she spent her summer visiting London. He’d learned that she and her parents had moved to the States from England when she was in her last year of high school, and that, she’d adorably admitted to him one night, she was self-conscious of her accent coming off snooty. To him, it was anything but, but he didn’t have the courage to tell her that.

When he wasn’t acting sore of Peggy’s adventures, he worked away his summer at a family friend’s hardware store, lifting lumber and stocking shelves for hours on end. He came home every night and could barely even sit down before he gobbled up whatever his ma made for dinner, which pleased her immensely. It wasn’t long before Steve put on a few pounds of muscle and according to how short his jeans were getting, puberty had finally caught up to him as well. He walked into his first day of classes with a new perspective, quite literally, and was incredibly nervous as he approached Peggy at the Starbucks located inside the Union.

He’d stood dumbly at the end of her table for a few moments, clearing his throat in hello and bracing himself for her reaction to his transformation. In slow motion almost, she raised her head, looking just as breathtaking as the day they had left campus, and took in the sight of him with surprised eyes. It was a few moments before either of them said anything and Steve had blurted the first thing that came to mind. Would she, Peggy Carter, like to go out on a date with him?

A smile, her gorgeous heartbreaking smile, spread onto her lips and Steve almost passed out as she answered ‘yes’. He wanted to drop onto his knees and thank God himself for finally kicking Steve’s growth spurt into gear, but Peggy stopped that train of thought in its tracks by saying pointedly that she would have gone on a date with him last year if he had ‘bucked up the courage to ask’.

Steve loved Miss Peggy Carter like no other.

Throughout the next few years, he and Peggy continued to date and Steve swore that he fell in love with her a little more each day. He fell in love with the way she pinned her hair back, the way she dogeared the pages of her books, the way her nose scrunched up as she laughed at one of his jokes that he swore she was the only one who ever found funny. And somewhere, deep in his bones, he knew that she loved him too. He could feel it every time she looked at him and gave him that smile of hers. She would reach out a hand to rest it against his cheek, the touch so intimate it felt like they were the only two in the world, and every ounce of the gesture made Steve’s heart soar. She just gave him that feeling…that she was supposed to be a big part of his life and change him in ways he didn’t even know yet, and he was so excited to see what was to come.

Then…things shifted. Not drastically, but it was like everything had been moved one inch to the left and even though nothing looked different, there was a feeling something was off.

It started when Peggy began to get headaches. She would get home from classes and there would be a set to her mouth that made Steve pause. He’d fuss over her until she waved him away, saying that there wasn’t anything wrong and all she needed was a couple painkillers. She would take two, go to her room to rest for a while, and then she’d meet him in the living room a few hours later with her arms wrapping around his neck from behind the couch, her mood completely changed. He tried to brush off the feeling in his stomach that something wasn’t right, even though sometimes it was all he could think about when she ran her hands down his shirt. Soon the two painkillers she took every once in awhile became a two painkillers daily, and then two turned into four and Steve could no longer ignore the worry gnawing at him from the inside out.

He finally put his foot down when he woke up in the early hours of the morning to the sounds of someone vomiting. He had reached out to hold Peggy to him and startled awake when all his hand grasped was the sheets of their bed, cold from lack of body heat. A violent gargle ripped through the quiet of their apartment and like a shot, Steve ran into the bathroom, his body turning to ice when he saw Peggy barely holding her head over the toilet bowl, the remnants of her dinner trailing down her chin and onto the shirt of his she loved to wear to sleep. He begged her to go see a doctor, even if it was just to ease his worry, and she reluctantly agreed, making an appointment for sometime in the coming week.

He wanted to wait until he knew for certain she felt better, but Steve found himself inside a jewelry shop a couple mornings later with his eyes trained on the shiny engagement rings twinkling from inside their glass enclosure. He’d saved up enough money from Christmases, birthdays, and his internship the past year to finally purchase the perfect ring for Peggy. It wasn’t flashy, the diamond small and in a classic princess cut, but it was beautiful and elegant and so like Peggy it made Steve’s heart burst just by looking at it. He paid the jeweler and couldn’t help the little skip in his step that followed him around for the rest of the day. Feeling that little black box in his pocket was enough to get him through a particularly difficult traffic jam, and the whole ride back to their apartment, the only thing he could think of was how Peggy’s face would light up when he asked her to marry him. He and Peggy were going to get _married_. Steve had let out a giddy little laugh at the thought as he pulled into their lot, parking the car a little more hurriedly than normal. He never really thought he’d ever get married and much less to someone like Peggy, who he still believed was way too good for him in every way possible. Steve took the steps up to their floor two by two until he finally stood in front of it, his keys jingling nervously in his hand before he finally said ‘fuck it’ and unlocked the door. It was now or never, and he couldn’t have waited another second.

That’s when he heard the crying.

And he knew.

Oh, he _fucking_ knew.

He didn’t want to go into the kitchen, to follow the sounds of sniffles and muffled sobs, but his feet seemed to carry him there of their own will. It seemed he was watching the scene in slow motion as he came upon Peggy hunched over the small kitchen table set up by the window, her body facing away from him so that all he could really see was the shaking of her shoulders and the small wet spots that dotted the wood beneath her elbows. He stood there in the doorway for who knows how long, trying to collect himself before he made the first dive into uncharted waters, and he watched her try to contain her tears within herself as if she was an unbreakable dam. He could only take it for so long before he spoke, her name falling off of his lips like a prayer.

She’d whipped her head around to look at him, mascara streaking her cheeks, and tried in vain to wipe the evidence of her pain away as Steve made his way over to her. He hadn’t said anything, not wanting to hurt her further and selfishly not wanting to know, and just dropped to his knees before her. A solemn man kneeling at the feet of his saving grace, his head falling into her lap in a silent plea for mercy. And with her silence, she gave it to him.

The doctors diagnosed Peggy with a brain tumor. Malignant and aggressive. It had already progressed to a point that if they were to even try removing it, the risks of the surgery outweighed the cost of her life, and Steve wanted to punch every single one of the doctors in their perfectly impassive faces. He knew it wasn’t their fault, but just hearing them fit the rest of Peggy’s life into six months was enough to make him scratch out his eyes. They sat through meet after meeting with specialists who told them the same thing, all with the same fucking apologetic look on their faces; _there’s nothing more that we can do_. What hurt the most was how Peggy would smile back at them, nodding her head while thanking them for their time and saying that she understood.

They didn’t know how much she cried after they were out of earshot.

Steve stuck by her side every single day throughout those next six months. She kept trying to tell him that things were going to get worse, that she wasn’t going to be herself towards the end. She didn’t want him to be around for that, and even though it made his stomach turn over at the thought of Peggy not being…Peggy… he stayed.

It started off with just an increase in her headaches and vomiting, stuff that Steve could handle though it still pained him to watch. He had a stupid, _stupid_ thought that maybe that would be the worst of it, and that everything leading up to the end would be a slow decline from that point. But that was before the memory loss. She only forgot little things at first, like where she had put the tv remote and what she had eaten for breakfast that morning, but when the point came to where she asked him what his last name was… a knot in his stomach began to grow. The mood swings kicked in shortly after that, mostly starting due to the fact of her being frustrated with what she couldn’t remember. She would be alright one moment, and then just a few minutes later would be crying and yelling about finding where she put her goddamn car keys, even though she hadn’t been driving in weeks. One particularly awful night, Steve came into their room after taking a shower to find Peggy on the floor, sobbing and beating her fists against her head as she screamed about not being able to remember what Steve had looked like in those few minutes he was gone. He spent the rest of the night trying to console her until he just ended up holding her so tightly in the hope that he could somehow take the pain away from her and bear it instead.  It fucking broke Steve’s heart to watch her deteriorate before his eyes and know that somewhere inside Peggy, she knew what was happening to her. Yet, all either of them could do was watch as it tore her to pieces.

Most of the memories of that time were violent and agonizing, but the most vivid of them all was an evening when Steve had returned from the store to see Peggy out of bed and cooking at the stove. It was only spaghetti, the sauce a simple recipe from his ma’s cookbook, but the sight of her doing something remotely normal was enough to brighten Steve’s whole week. He’d approached her quietly in the fear of this being a trick of his mind, but when she turned to him and gave him that _smile_ …she was his Peggy again. That meal was the best Steve felt he’d eaten in his entire life, and the rest of the night was blissfully free of any tumor related incidents, him and Peggy cuddling on the couch until they eventually made their way to the bedroom. Steve wanted to make love to her like he’d done a million times before everything had gone to shit, but it was more than enough for him just to lie next to her and feel her strong, even breathing fall into match with his. They laid there, Peggy held gently in Steve’s arms and they were almost asleep when she leaned in to whisper against his lips, “ _I love you…_ ”

With a smile, he kissed her and answered her for the first time in six goddamn months with absolutely no sadness in his voice, “ _I love you, too._ ”

He’d fallen asleep with the echo of her voice in his ears, sleeping peacefully through the night, and when he woke, he was relieved to see that she was still in his embrace. Steve had smiled softly down her and reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, a gesture he knew she adored to wake up to. His fingertips brushed her face…but paused when the skin underneath them was cold. He shook her gently, saying her name  with a twinge of hope attached to the end. A question.

She didn’t answer.

Everything that happened next Steve remembered in a blur. He remembered a feeling of white hot panic as he frantically tried to wake Peggy to no avail, screaming her name so loudly that he swore the room crumbled around them. He must’ve called 911 at some point, or someone else had, because there was a moment of Peggy being taken away from him and he remembered not wanting to let go, as morbid as that was. Holding onto a dead body for dear life. What a goddamn oxymoron. He remembered the funeral not feeling real and holding Mrs.Carter’s hand as her daughter’s body was lowered into the ground. At least God, or whoever the hell was in charge up there, had allowed it to rain that day. It was as if the whole world were weeping for the loss of Peggy and it made Steve feel less alone.

Steve went ahead and finished his senior year at OSU, plowing through his studies and using them as a distraction from how broken he actually was. There were people who still gave him pitying looks and professors that offered to give him extended deadlines on projects that he told them he was fully capable of finishing on time, but Steve patched up each encounter with a new band-aid and went about his life. He graduated, told his parents he wanted to move away from Ohio, and packed his bags for New York City. He knew it was a rash decision and that he didn’t have much of a plan formulated, but all he knew was that he had to get away from…everything.

The night before he left, Peggy’s parents showed up unexpectedly on Steve’s doorstep, their faces lightening and saddening at the same time as they took in Steve standing there. Guilt immediately punched Steve in the stomach at the thought that it was the first time he’d seen them since Peggy’s funeral. To be fair, he hadn’t seen much of anyone since the funeral, but Peggy’s parents had been like family to him and the guilt only grew as he realized that they were hurting just as much as he still was. Nobody spoke for a few seconds, a moment frozen in time that in another era would be filled with smiles and laughter but was now replaced with the painful silence one’s absence brings.

Mrs.Carter was the first to move, pulling Steve into a hug so tight it almost managed to push all of his broken pieces back into place, and it took every ounce of his strength not to bury his face in her shoulder and cry. It was even harder to look Mrs.Carter in the face because… shit, she looked so much like Peggy that Steve’s heart could barely take any eye contact for more than five seconds. They exchanged a few pleasantries and the conversation didn’t progress much beyond “how are you doing?” and “just fine, how are you?”. Steve hated that he felt awkward around them, but no matter how hard the Steve of months past screamed against the cages of his chest, only the dull voice of a man long dead escaped his lips. It wasn’t long before they ran out of things to talk about, and Steve could feel the conversation winding down like the slow static of a record player. They bid their goodbyes, with Steve walking them politely to the end of his apartment building’s steps, and the Carters filed into their car as Steve stood by with his shoulders hunched forward a bit in shame. He wanted to do something, something to show that he cared, but soon enough, Mrs. Carter’s hand came reaching for him out of the car window and latched onto his forearm with a firm grip. It was enough to make Steve’s head whip up in warning with the expectation of an angry woman, but instead he was greeted with a warm smile and a parting phrase.

“ _Please call us if you need anything, love. Even if it’s just to talk._ ”

Steve had never called.

Not even after he had learned they moved to New York.

And especially not after he’d gone without visiting Peggy’s grave since the funeral.

Steve couldn’t decide what kind of man that made him.


End file.
